


||Part I: Kleine Rote Blumen||

by ImJustAPeach



Series: Medizin Praktizieren, Mit Chemikalien Spielen - Medic/OC Series [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23420854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImJustAPeach/pseuds/ImJustAPeach
Summary: Within this unbreakable feud of greed and violence... I found some comfort in this chaotic garden of bullets from the little red flowers blooming in your wake.
Relationships: Medic (Team Fortress 2)/Reader, RED Medic/Original Character(s), RED Medic/You
Series: Medizin Praktizieren, Mit Chemikalien Spielen - Medic/OC Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684762
Comments: 9
Kudos: 53





	1. ||The Prologue : A New Life||

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I'm somewhat rusty with writing, but I am hoping that I don't disappoint! I'm an avid Team Fortress 2-fan who made a monstrosity of a fanfic back in 2012, and I'm here to redeem myself from the 2012 project that I started, but never quite finished. This time, I will finish this one! I hope you enjoy!

It was Sunday - August 11th 1968 at exactly 10:00 AM. This was the day your life on the run took a drastic, unnecessary turn.

A very abrupt left turn.

In the heat of the Arizona sun, a lavender scooter, carrying a light load of two, sped down the desert roads. The little bike eventually whipped itself onto the red sand and into what appeared to be a poorly painted desert scene that dressed a hanging, weathered tarp accompanied by hideously done cardboard cacti and foliage. Oh! It was a secret entrance of some kind. First impressions?

Tacky.  
Cheap.  
And somewhat dumb.

"We are almost there. I'm sorry for the bumps... This isn't exactly made for off road travel!"

A tired voice cuts through your internal opinions of the not so secret entrance. 

The voice was from your driver: A fairly petite woman, perhaps in her mid to late 20s? Black hair was pulled into a messy, rushed bun while bright, intelligent emerald eyes hid behind crooked, thick frames. Dressed in a light purple button up that paired well with the slight darker purple pencil skirt and black Mary Janes, the woman was clearly some sort of office worker - and definitely not dressed for her current situation or surroundings. Purple was slightly tinted orange from the sand and dirt while flushed skin glistened from the sweat that dare trickle down her brow. 

Yeah. No. Definitely not dressed for this.

Meet Ms. Pauling.

"Not to worry, Ms. Pauling! Just... admiring the interesting entry decor!" Your voice chirped in reply with an expression that was riddled with exhaustion. The company of this escapade was fine, but the time passed was far from quick. It was taking so long that it was utter torture. As the little off road ride continued, your mind took its own detour of sorts to cope: Why did you listen to this woman and her psychotic boss? Granted, Ms. Pauling _was _reasonable, sweet, sassy, and fairly smart. She also was notably, more or less, harmless. So no, your qualms were not really with her but with the other. Why would someone of your caliber agree to be dragged out to a desert in the middle of Arizona?__

__Oh right..._ _

__-Some months earlier...-_ _

__The cold atmosphere. The icy, judgmental, yet clever eyes piercing from behind heavy violet clouds. Those sneering lips draped behind pristine yet wrinkled skin. Those long, dagger-like nails clattering rhythmically against the arm of a chair. The sharp contrast of purple against steely gray._ _

__This was the realm of a higher power. This was the presence of a sadistically crazed yet composed and strategic evil._ _

__Meet the Administrator - Helen._ _

__For most of this sudden get together, you had blocked out most of what was being said - out of sheer irk and anger. You, like anyone on the run, were hiding out. It wasn't before long that your vision was interrupted by a bag being tossed over your head. Bound, dragged, and now practically forced to sign some contract against your will._ _

__Wonderful._ _

__With her glare narrowing, the old hag continued, and this time you listened,_ _

__"-Do you understand? If you cooperate, we won't need to suffer with the task of turning you into the authorities. We wouldn't want your little research being taken away from you. Now would we?"_ _

__Your (e/c) eyes flashed with a fierce gleam in retaliation to her cold ones. How DARE she threaten your life's work. For too long had you spent perfecting what you had- and no, of course none of it was legal. In fact it was quite lethal, in all honesty. And this woman and whoever she worked with... they knew that._ _

__They desired that._ _

__With your throat cleared, you spoke sternly, "And what is it, exactly, that I get out of this besides my freedom?"_ _

__The Administrator then gestures behind you, and out steps Ms. Pauling. The secretary was leagues away from reaching the level of confidence and power Helen had - but then again, the smaller of the two was simply the pawn crawling to the commands of her master's game._ _

__You couldn't really blame her - despite how much you despised the Administrator._ _

__Ms. Pauling clears her throat before adjusting her glasses back to the bridge of her nose. In her hand was a file. your file. Everything practically about you was in that little packet - your name, your age, your birthday, where you were from, your family, your life story..._ _

__How invasive. How rude._ _

__Soon the briefing began:  
"Per agreeing to our terms, while your freedom remain intact, both the Builders League United or Reliable Excavation & Demolition and their respective CEO's, Blutarch Mann and Redmond Mann, as well as our third party who shall go unnamed, are both highly interested in your skill set and research-" You cut her off,_ _

__"For the cost of being able to own me and my work."_ _

__The woman sighs before beginning again, "-and we will not only pay you on a biweekly basis with a pretty hefty paycheck for your efforts, you will also be given a much better place to stay than the dank and moldy basement you were hiding away in." Ms. Pauling finished, finally, before closing the folder in her hands. Her green eyes never faltering while both pawn and master await your response. You couldn't say no._ _

__You huff, "Fine. I'll do it."_ _

__Helen's condescending sneer settles into an unsettling smirk, "Excellent, (Y/N.) Now, we shall move onto the final step..." Ms. Pauling then steps in front of you, folder outstretched with a stamp in tow:_ _

__"RED or BLU?"_ _

__The rubber on a stick was raised, and SLAM!  
Down it came. Your choice was made. _ _

__"Perfect."_ _

__The Administrator stood tall before turning her back towards a tower of screens that lurked behind her, "Your first day will begin in the next three months. Ms. Pauling will see to your transition will be smooth and without fault." A (h/c) brow raised with confusion before your head found itself cocked to the side. Ms. Pauling then sets a hand on your shoulder:_ _

__"Now, what to call you..."_ _


	2. Meet: You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "RED or BLU?"
> 
> "Perfect."
> 
> "Now.. What to call you."

...And that was why you couldn't back away from this job. 

Your thoughts ran wild through the chapters that transpired of the course of those few short months. The packing up, the erasure of your trail, the life that you left behind you. Everything and anything about you was swapped out to suit this new life. You were now a tool to aid in some messed up family feud. But in the long run, you'd be paid, housed, and your research could finally be put to the test. 

Now your world took on a whole new color:

"Here we are! Welcome to RED of Teufort!"

Ah so you had gone with RED.  
Interesting choice.

The scooter soon scooted itself to a much needed halt to your relief. The ride was finally over! Now towering before you was a rather large and somewhat ominous building - built of both concrete and strikingly red brick. "Welcome to the RED Base." Ms. Pauling glanced over to you from over your shoulder, "I know it's not the most aesthetically pleasing, but-" You couldn't focus much on her words as your eyes kept gaping at the very extra and very exaggerated sign:

RED: Reliable Excavation & Demolition by MANN CO.

This was supposed to be home. A home in the middle of a desert. Granted, it was better than the opposing option of where Builders League United, or BLU, was located. Icy mountains? Snowy hills? Cold weather?

No thanks.  
This'll do.

Hopping off of the bike, Ms. Pauling quickly popped her helmet from her head - freeing her now even messier bun from its clutches. You follow suite - luckily with your newly acquired short hairstyle (per demands of the Administrator) you didn't have as much of a crazy bird's nest. You had initially missed your long locks, but on the battlefield it was less of a hassle to have your hair flying everywhere. 

As the two of you took a moment to stretch your legs and bodies, Ms. Pauling begins your first instructions:

"Before you ask, your belongings, research, and weapons should be here soon via the crate system. After we introduce you to everyone, I'd put on your new uniform once we are inside, if I were you. You look worse for wear."

As you ran a hand through your hair with a huff, you couldn't really argue. She was more or less right. You also desperately needed a shower. The loose gray shirt you had worn was now dusted with orange, and your dark denim jeans weren't in any better shape thanks to that ride. 

But then a thought crossed your mind...

(b/c) eyebrows could not help but pinch forward, "Miss Pauling, forgive me for pointing this out, but: How many people am I supposed to be working with? What kind of people are they? You didn't exactly go over that in the memo or during the ride over-" Ms. Pauling let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. There was no way she could have forgotten something so vital? Right?

Nope.  
She had completely forgotten that detail.

"Oh crap! Right, I thought I forgot to brief you on something..." She readjusted her black specs before explaining: "You'll be the 10th member of a, well what used to be, team of nine. Everyone here comes from different combat-heavy, lethal, and also not completely legal backgrounds. We aren't talking your typical soldiers or average, run of the mill civilians. So you'll fit in just fine!"

Oh joy.

As the much needed fill-in was being discussed, it was quickly interrupted by a rather loud shout,

"MISS PAULING! What a surprise!"

You see the woman's shoulders tense while her expression shifted into one of slight annoyance,

"Oh... Hello, Scout-"

As if out of no where, a hyperactive man came barreling out of the base at a wicked speed. Scout, was it? The guy seemed fairly full of himself as the conversation turned from business to slight bragging and poor attempts at earning her favor.

You observed: A black baseball cap was snug on his head, and he wore what looked to be aged cleats on his feet. A red, of course, tshirt was worn while being paired with a plain pair of well-used tactical combat shorts. You take note that the Scout's hands were wrapped tightly with bandages - you were assuming for some kind of wrist support? Around his neck were two silver dog tags, swaying and clinking as he moved about in an overly animated fashion. His voice, well that was also very distinct. Kid was clearly from Boston. Didn't appear the guy was too far in age either - young, spry, and energetic for sure.

So this was at least one out of the nine members of your new team.  
Meet The Scout.

By the time you finished your first "evaluation", Scout finally noticed that the woman he fancied had a party member along side her. You give the guy the good ol' pair of finger guns,

"Hey."

Ms. Pauling takes the opportunity to gesture back towards you and then towards Scout, "So, if you haven't already heard, this is Scout. Scout, meet your new recruit." Scout only stared. What was he thinking? Was he annoyed? No, it looked as if was a little confused. To break the ice further, you reach out towards your teammate with a cocked brow, 

"Nice to meet you, kid I'm-" 

Scout didn't even bother giving you a proper hell or even a moment before flipping out,

"Yo! What? Who in dah hell are you-?" 

Sounds like Ms. Pauling forgot to give them the memo.  
Oh wait, she did.

"Crap!! I forgot!-"

Now it was Ms. Pauling's turn to freak and panic.  
I guess all of her recent focus had been dedicated to your whole 'new life' shenanigans that she had forgotten to alert the people you'd be working with from now on. Though, at least for you, it was rather humorous to see this usually collected woman so frazzled. After taking a second to gather her bearings, Ms. Pauling clears her throat before nodding in your direction, "I apologize, please continue." And so you try again:

"Yeah so, I'm the new member. Nice to meet you, Scout. So I wasn't completely filled in either. But, I hope we'll make great team on the field!" The man calmed down and gave you a solid fist bump, "Oh, um yeah. Same! Sorry 'bout that. It's been ages since we had anyone new 'round here! Oh yeah, uh, Jeremy! Or Scout! Or heh, the BEST MAN ON THE PLANET-" And there was that Boston ego. With this the secretary next to you only rolled her eyes, "Whatever you say, Scout." The small introduction was soon halted by a thick Southern drawl, 

"Why howdy, Miss Pauling! Nice of you to drop on by, darlin'!"  
"Oh, Engineer, what a relief!"  
"I hear we're havin' a newbie joinin' us? Might as well introduce myself-"

And out came your second teammate:  
This man was a bit bulkier, but also on the shorter side. He was dressed with a red button up with a pair of dark navy overalls that were covered in oil, dirt, and grease. Yellow electrical gloves that dressed his hands were also kissed in oil and grease. On his shoulder rested a bright yellow patch with a red wrench. Eyes were hidden behind a set of welding goggles. And his voice? Unlike his Boston-born partner here, this individual had a very heavy Texan accent but spoke a bit softer.

"Well it's a pleasure to meet you. The name's Dell Conhager, but you can call me Engineer 'round here, or Engie if you prefer. If you need anythin' at all, just holler."

Meet the Engineer.

The Engineer was clearly a man of Southern hospitality and had the charm that came with it. This gave him major brownie points in your book. Your smaller hand found itself in his much larger one and a firm handshake followed after. You smiled, "Nice to meet you, Engineer! Good to be here!" The Texan offered back a grin before gesturing behind him towards the front doors behind him, 

"Ya'll best come inside. Everyone's up, and I'm pretty sure they've notice ya'll standin' out here. Scout, you should've bought them in sooner!"

The kid couldn't help but shrug in embarrassment. He had become too distracted with Ms. Pauling and now he was being reprimanded in front of her. Great, just great. You let out a small snort at the scene before following behind your two teammates - Ms. Pauling not far behind. 

The Texan led the four of you through the front, gated entrance before you passed through a set of massive red doors. Once inside, the group made a detour down a couple of hallways. Directional signs could be seen at every other corner - you did your best to start making mental notes:

Infirmary.  
Living Quarters.  
Locker Room.  
Main Hanger.  
Weapons Room.  
Training Room.  
Exits A, B, C, and D.  
Mess Hall.

And finally... Your destination of the Rec. Hall. 

All around the room stood the remaining seven of your future team. They each gave off different auras - some intimidating and some were indifferent. There was a possibility that, unlike the Engineer and Scout, these people wouldn't be as welcoming.

The first to approach was rather interesting. It was a man dressed in an expensive, Italian pinstripe suit. His hands were covered by matching Italian leather gloves. And of course, everything is red from head to toe. Steel eyes were seen judging you, up and down, from behind a wool ski mask.

He clearly was one who meant business.  
He then spoke,

"Bonjour. I am the Spy. Surely you wouldn't be here if you weren't of any use. I'll be the judge of that."

The man then turns to Ms. Pauling, "-And, non, it was not hard to find out about our new recruit. So we already know who this is." The secretary stared in slight disbelief, "Spy-", she is only cut off by a low chuckle, "-You forget, Miss Pauling, this is within my line of expertise."

Meet the Spy - the man with no name, or at least he preferred it this way. Number three.  
A Frenchman by the sounds of it.

He chuckled with a shake of a head, "I'm surprised a woman will be joining us on the lines of battle." The room goes silent before Scout erupts: "Wait... HE'S A WHAT-" Did this idiot actually think you were-wait, no that made some sense. He was rather dense.The Engineer couldn't help but give out a low laugh, "Boy, you got to really learn a thing or two." With a scoff, the Spy rolled his eyes before taking your hand - placing a light kiss against your knuckles.

A classic French gentleman.  
He also got brownie points.

"It is a pleasure, Spy.", You state with a smile. Releasing your hand, the Frenchman was soon berating and scolding the idiotic boy behind you. It was comical, and kind of necessary so you didn't feel too bad for it. They almost acted like father and son.

"MAGGOTS! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS? WE DON'T HAVE TIME TO BABYSIT THIS WASTE OF SPACE!!"  
"Mon dieu... Soldier, please. Have some manners, you loud buffoon."  
"THE NAME'S JANE DOE, MAGGOT!"

Meet the Soldier - Mr. Jane Doe (which I do not believe was his actual name). Number four.  
Clearly, this guy screamed "'MURICA" from top to bottom.

A helmet, that was almost too big, was slammed on the top of his head - covering his eyes. He was dressed in a red army uniform with olive tactical pants. A bright yellow rocket patch on his arm was proudly worn. His footsteps were just as loud as his voice - steel-toed combat boots were worn that were caked in mud.

You couldn't help but snort at how ridiculously American this man was.

Shaking your head at the rampage of angry questions and noisy remarks, it took a moment or two for the Soldier to cool his jets and stomp off to the side - something about needing more training? Nevertheless the introductions kept coming, and coming, and coming:

First, we had the hard to understand, mysterious figure who was hidden behind a bright red, flame resistant suit and black gas mask. He greets you with great excitement, even hugging you... Suffocating you in both a hug and by the smoke and burnt ash of which he smelled of. The room was full of "Mmmph!"s and "Muurrmurr!!"s . You gathered from the help of Ms. Pauling that this was their slightly crazy but oddly sweet pyromaniac.

Meet the Pyro. Number five. Now it was reasonable that this bloke had no name as no one could understand what he would have said otherwise. At least they seemed nice enough.

Next came a rather large man - and by large, I mean he was an absolute unit of a man. He had grey-blue eyes that reminded of of freshly fallen snow on a cloudy winter day. 

"You are very small lady. But Heavy and Sasha will to protect you." 

His voice, unmistakably Russian - deep, rumbling, but also gentle and soft. He wore a simple red shirt underneath a thick layer of black Kevlar with another pair of those familiar tactical trousers. Like the Soldier, steel toed boots were the go to choice here as well as an arm patch that was decorated with a fist as its insignia. Leather, finger-less gloves covered his massive calloused hands. This literal tank easily stood over seven feet, easy. You took note that he was also bald unlike his other colleagues (besides Spy, Pyro and Engineer who's heads were covered) yet it suited him. Scout and Soldier at least had that traditional army-boy cut. Next to him sat a massive Gatling-style Minigun that you could only assume was... "Sasha".

Meet the Heavy - Mikhail, who also had no last name. Number six.  
The Russian giant who you were glad was on your side.

Following close behind in a drunken mess, a one-eyed fellow stumbled forward. He wore a red jumpsuit which popped well against his dark skin. Like the rest, on his arm rested a patch - this time of a bomb. Over top of it all, a black Kevlar-like get up was worn - almost giving him the appearance of an umpire. A beanie sat snug on his head, helping hold down the eye patch resting on his left eye. A thick, curly beard draped itself over his chin.

"Aye! Ya a wee bairn! You's gonna be blown 'way off 'ta battlefield! I'll be sure 'ta not blow up ya arse with me bombs!"

Undeniably Scottish. Undeniably drunk. Undeniably bad at wording things when drunk.  
Meet the Demoman - Tavish Finnegan DeGroot (talk about a tongue twister).  
He was number seven.

From the shadows of the room emerged a lankier fellow. Quiet. Not a people-person sort. Cat-like eyes hidden behind a pair of aviators and a wide brim, leather hat sat on his head. Dark side burns lined the sides of his face - accenting his slight under bite. Arms crossed, a cross hair symbol was visible against the red of his shirt. From the looks of things, he was possibly wearing a tactical vest. But the most notable thing on his person was the large machete strapped to his hip. With a tip of a hat, he spoke,

"G'day, sheliah."

An Australian marksman. A deadly adversary but a worthwhile ally.  
Meet the Sniper - Mr. Mundy. Straight and to the point, even with his name.  
A professional assassin with professional standards. Number eight.

So lastly came number nine. Or should we say "Nein"?

Stepping out into the light, almost proudly, your last member made himself known. He was dressed in a crisp, white lab coat with just as pristine, freshly ironed khaki pants. His hair? Also very clean - slicked back with peppered grey crawling up his sideburns unlike his Australian companion. Against the pure white coat, bright red rubber gloves glistened in the light - squeaking too whenever the fine digits were moved. Small spectacles sat on the bridge of his nose. A red tie could be seen under the coat's collar, and the signature cross on his arm was not easy to miss. He at first gave off a cold demeanor before a blinding white smile cracked from under his lips,

"Guten tag! I am very excited to get to v'ork v'ith you! I've heard a great deal about your research!"

Yeah. No. For a clean and angelic looking fellow, he had the smile and eyes of a psychopath. But he was clearly a doctor... maybe he just had a terrible bedside manner.  
Meet the Medic - Ludwig Humboldt.

Taking all this new information in, Ms. Pauling cleared her throat and gave you a pat on the shoulder, "I know it's a lot, but like I said before... You'll fit in just fine here." Your brows furrowed for a moment, 

"You sure about that? They're all kind of-" 

"V'hat? Psychotic?"  
"D'rrruuuunk?"  
"AMERICAN MADE!"  
"Mmmrrmmph!!" "Merde... Will you all let the woman finish?."

You quickly shook you head, "-Look, never mind." This bunch were certainly going to be an interesting group to live with let alone work with and fight alongside. But if they were all as special as Ms. Pauling had cracked them out to be, then what harm was there.

With a smile, you gave them all a firm nod,

"It's a pleasure, gentlemen. I'm (f/n) (l/n). But you can call me The Chemist."

And so, it began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> |Some Class Info|
> 
> The Chemist
> 
> |Weapons| - Bio weaponry/Chemicals - Chemical warfare is The Chemist's specialty. Special canisters are used to store her different toxins. Some have various fumes or gases that can cause loss of consciousness, suffocation, or death. Others contain poisonous or hazardous liquids that can burn, melt, or poison their victims. Not recommended for either to be inhaled or ingested.  
> Long Range: 1966 GP-25 Grenade Launcher - Small, Russian-made. Easier to handle for the Chemist's petite stature. Custom-made cartridges for rotating between poisonous fumes and toxic liquids. This is paired with an 1950 CEAM Modèle assault rifle - French-made, alternative when canister/cartridge stock is low or if gas proves ineffective (Against Pyro or enemies outside of smog range).  
> Mid Range: 1919 Beretta 418 Pistol - Also small, Italian-made. Easily concealed and useful for 'in a pickle' situations.  
> Short Range: Hand-to-Hand, and brass knuckles
> 
> More to come in Chapter 3! :) I promise we will be seeing more of our dear Doktor.
> 
> Extra: Jane/John Doe is a term used for soldiers who went missing during the war. Jane for women, John for men. Soldier uses the alias of "Jane Doe" despite this.


	3. A Physical? A Battle? A Busy First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's a pleasure, gentlemen. I'm (f/n) (l/n). But you can call me The Chemist."
> 
> And so it began...

The introductions went well, and it was barely ten past eleven. By this point, Ms. Pauling had to leave (she had of course only one day a year off after all). This left you to your own devices with your new team. Engineer was kind enough to show you where your living quarters were situated while the rest of them did whatever it was they did - you'd figure out everyone's schedules eventually.

"Thanks, Engineer. Much appreciated."  
"Not a problem, darlin'. Takes some gettin' used to, but I'm sure you'll settle in just fine."

The Texan left with a wave, leaving you by your lonesome in the hallway. Fortunately, you had been at least give some vital information from Ms. Pauling before she had left. You went down the checklist in your head:

Bedrooms were key coded.  
Personal information of everyone was kept confidential - well, unless decided otherwise. Due to the obvious gender differences now, you had been given your own private bathroom to avoid any shared locker room situation awkwardness.  
Mess hall hours were: 6 AM bright a nearly, noon sharp, and 7 PM in the evenings.  
Daily lookouts and Night watch were always on a frequent rotation. You always went in pairs.  
The call to arms would be at random - but for the most part, the team typically had a fair amount of free time in between fights of which they could do whatever they pleased.  
A physical was mandatory.

A physical?

Well, it seemed to make some sense to you. After all, if you were to be out on the field, your team needed that assurance to make sure you were in tip top shape. But in shape for what exactly? You knew you all were hired to help in some sort of fight. That was the other thing you didn't understand.

\--Moment's ago at around 11:00 AM...--

"Miss Pauling, I don't understand. What is it that we are all hired to fight for, exactly?"

You had walked Miss Pauling back out to her scooter - Partially to wanting a break from all the new faces, partially to wanting to know as much as you could, and partially not wanting to leave the side from the only familiar face in the room. 

Sensing your nervousness, the woman sighed,

"Right.. I'm sorry. Everything has gotten sort of mixed up today. This should have been told to you before we got here... I apologize, let me explain..."

Then it was all laid out:

"RED and BLU... The owners, Redmond Mann and Blutarch Mann, are more than just business rivals. If you haven't noticed already, they are brothers. Twins. They have been having this feud over the stretch of land here for decades. Their father had left it to their names before he passed - sort of a punishment, if you will. From my understanding, the land is useless; however, the two imbecils are insane enough to keep fighting over it anway.-"

You nodded your head. That... actually made some sense. Why hadn't you noticed beforehand? Ms. Pauling continued:

"-My boss, the Administrator, had some sort of connection to the Mann family. I'm not entirely sure how, but she now is more or less in charge of their personal affairs - including the continuation of this fight."

"So she's the middle-man in all this?"

"-I guess you can put it that way, yes. Nevertheless, both brothers wish for the fight to continue. Both BLU and RED have their own mercenary teams. You all are the ones who shed the blood, take the bullets, and even die for them, should they will it. And now that you are here, I am pretty sure Builders League United has found their 10th member as well... To even the playing field. Unfortunately, I can't disclose anything else about the opposition."

Ms. Pauling paused before shaking her head with a frown, "It's a stupid fight, but it is what brings the bread to the table for most of us.-" You cut her off again, "It also is what keeps us loons free, isn't it?" To this she didn't reply with much other than a small smile.

"And what about that third party you guys did mention before? Care to tell me about any of that?" You were met with a moment of silence.

"I have to go, Chemist. You'll understand in due time. Good luck."

\--...And back to the now.---

Letting out a sigh, you punch in your code and slink into your bedroom. You had to digest everything that had happened over the last few months, over this morning, over the last hour. So to start that mental digestion, you slumped into your new room:

Like you, the room was kept simple. A red bed spread covered a small twin bed in the corner of the room. A nightstand sat next to it - put together with an alarm clock and a simple lamp. There was a small closet - decent enough - lined with your future uniforms (red shirts, black pants, lab coats and boots too). A small dresser lay against one of the walls, and a decent sized window sat above it. Just enough light was able to shine through the glass.

Homey.  
Quaint.  
Clean.  
Quiet.

The bed let out a squeak as your weight sunk into it. The day had just barely begun, and yet you were absolutely beat. And although you despised the commute and this new life style, you loved your work too much and needed the money way too much to let the opportunity (although forced upon you) go. 

"This is so stupid. Why did I agree to this..."

A hand ran through your hair before a tired sigh escaped your lips. A nap wouldn't be so bad about now. Yeah, a nice power nap... Then a shower.. Then maybe you'd see the doctor about that mandatory physical... Well, too late now. You were eventually sound asleep, flopped back against your mattress.

You hadn't even had the chance to get out of your sand and sweat covered clothes.

\- [MEDIC'S POV...] -  
So the Chemist was a woman. And the others seemed a bit shaken by this? Well, no matter. Medic had heard great things about their work, of course. A fellow scientist was a fellow scientist. 

A mind for a mind.

Now, to come up to speed... A few years prior, around 1966, our Dr. Ludwig Humboldt had been hired along side Dell and Mikhail. Spy hadn't come on board till about a couple months later - though he easily 'blended in' without much effort. Old Tavish, Pyro, Mundee (Mr. Mundy), and Mr. "Doe" came about soon after that. Scout, hired last, was the baby of the team. Still was.

Give or take, this dysfunctional family of nine had worked together for at least a couple of years or so by now.

Then came you.  
The mere, unexpected neuling brought aboard in the summer of 1968.  
History aside, new things had come about, and everyone here would have to adjust.  
Even him.

It was just a bit after 11 AM once the lengthy introduction wrapped up. The Medic was now lurking in his personal quarters - which sat fairly close to the infirmary.

It was, like yours, a custom room built to his personal preference. But unlike yours, it was far from simple. Towering bookshelves lined the walls - medical books, tomes, novels, etc. filled them from top to bottom. The floor was covered in a rich burgundy carpet, and walls were coated in some sort of fancy wallpaper. There was also a large desk and leather chair to one side of the large room. On the opposite side, sat a queen bed with a pair of night stands. The bed was kept just as tidy and orderly as it's owner - sheets tucked, pillows fluffed, and not a speck of fuzz to be seen. A large wardrobe sat near by - filled with crisp uniforms, vests, and ties. For lights, the Medic preferred candle lamps - they were gentle in comparison to the harsh florescent lights he had to use in the medical bay. And like your room - there was natural light as an option as well. Large windows sat high to the north end of the room.

Although of an unsound mind, the man enjoyed his time in his homey and warm inner sanctum. One of the very rare times he would find himself at peace.  
However, peace and calm was not an option right now.

Absentmindedly scribbling down some notes, the harsh German tongue could be heard spitting out all sorts of mumbo jumbo from the desk - further experiments, continued experiments, more drastic experiments, more painful experiments, "z'his and z'hat", you know? 

Oh, the man was completely mad, for certain. But he also was one of the few that were completely sane in this messed up place - aside from Spy, Sniper (to some degree), and Engineer. Now, these experiments weren't all just for sadistic pleasure or for the simple hell of it-yeah, no some of them were. The guy was still absolutely mental.

However!  
It was all in the name of "medical discovery and science".

So.

Did you know this nut of a man discovered how to heal wounds while on the battlefield at an alarming rate.. Nay, instantaneously? The creation of the Medigun was by far one of Medic's biggest accomplishments. The concept was rather simple...

A mechanism that housed the pulsating red-hued light, or "healing beam", was connected by a tube and hose system. This would then channeled through into a large gun. This, once activated, could heal whoever stood within its range. 

It could seal gaping holes, repair bone, restore organs, and even grow teeth! 

You'd think that having organs returned, flesh sutured, bones rebuilt, or having your body reconstructed would be fairly, if not excruciatingly, painful... But somehow the doctor figured out how to remove pain out of the equation COMPLETELY.

This was useful during heated battles. Hell, it even helped cut the costs to stock up on anesthesia for surgeries. 

Yes, surgery.

if fired at a low enough setting, the Medigun would be enough to keep a patient alive. However, wounds would not seal up completely. Blood would continue to flow, hearts would still beat, your body would fully function - even if some of your vital organs were missing! Now, at the cost of a lower dosage of Medigun Magic, your body could now experience forms of pain. Luckily for some, it was nothing too excruciating.

At first, the concept of "alive and awake" surgeries and being magically stitched back together in the middle of a fight... was mind-boggling and kind of freaky. After some time, the entire RED team, Medic included, all had been subject to the Medigun. And surprisingly, they had accepted it as an average, routine thing. If you were in desperate need of the Medic on the field, all you'd have to do is call. Then WHOOSH, you could feel the warmth of the healing beam wrap itself around you while your skin slowly reconnected, organs squelched together and bones snapped and cracked in place.

Before long, you'd be up and running in no time!

But alas there's more that the utter mess of a man accomplished...  
The Ubercharge.

About a year ago, our heavy weapons Russian was under the beam - being treated for a "disruptive condition" in the middle of a fight. And of course, he was in the hands of their good, dear Medic! He was going to be fine! He was in trustworthy hands!

Turns out... The doctor was lying. Well slightly.

The "disruption" was both the Heavy and Medic had been knocked out of the fight when the large brute took a pretty nasty hit from an enemy BLU. The Medigun luckily was what kept the man alive, but the blast hurt more than the two men. The machine bad taken some hefty damage too. With it's power greatly lessened, the beam was not enough to seal the gaping hole in Heavy's chest.

And thus, the little makeshift surgery was in order.

Crawling back to the infirmary, with the doctor's help, both RED member and Medigun went under some needed "repairs". This was when the "lie" took place. This was more than just a day on the job! This was the chance to try a new experiment that had been lying in wait. So why not use a team member as the perfect, unsuspecting guinea pig? Basically the run down of it all was: The madman shoved a mechanical device into the Russian's heart, his heart exploded when exposed to the Medi-beam, and to correct the loss of a heart... Well...

The poor man now had a baboon's heart shoved inside of him as a replacement - along with the electronic device. Think of it as an insane heart transplant with a super-charged pacemaker.

Now, Mikhail wasn't exactly thrilled about becoming one of Ludwig's experiments, but they were needed out on the battlefield. There was no other choice. And thanks to that injury, a lie, an unfortnuate baboon, and then running back into battle... The Ubercharge was discovered! 

This concept was fairly simple too: When large doses of the healing beam were exposed to the little electronic, a sort of chaotic, hyperactive healing effect occurred. Then, by attaching the technological doodad to an individual's body (preferably, the heart) the user was turned completely INVINCIBLE. You would become bullet-proof and super charged past normal human capabilities once exposed to the maximum amount of Medigun beams. It made you a literal god - well for at least a few minutes. 

However... This wasn't without a cost.

Remember how the Heavy's human heart exploded? Unfortunately, human hearts could not stand the voltage of the pacemaker-device... No, only Mikail had to deal with having the baboon heart sewn into his chest. Sadly. Thanks to the Medic's insanity and the help of the Engineer's tech-savvy mind, more efficient and 'human friendly' devices were made (and then installed) into each of the RED team members so the Ubercharge could be used on the field as a last resort.

Disgusting human experimentation that ended up being a blessing.  
You'd think after all that, the German loon would be finished. 

Not quite.  
Not yet.  
Not now.

He was on the brink of something! Something WUNDERBAR!  
Letting out a cackle, Medic's smile grew and grew. He was so close... So utterly close- 

Doooooon!! Doooooon! Doooooooon-!!

Off went his grandfather clock - signalling that a half hour had already passed! That much time already? Mein Gott! It was nearly noon! Setting his pen down, Ludwig stood up with a huff, 

"Verdammt... I v'has about to make a serious breakthrough.." 

Mess hall would be opening for lunch hour soon, and luckily DeGroot was cooking. Although he was a drunken bastard, the dummkopf was a decent cook. With a click of his tongue, Medic made his way out the door - with the white coat and red gloves were left behind. There hadn't been a call for battle today, so why not relax just a bit? 

With a straightening of his red tie and a quick brush down if his gray vest, Medic began to leave his sanctuary with a sigh.

"Scheisse!"

So much for relaxing. The German had not even made it out the door before being barreled into by-

Oh it's you.  
The neuling.

\--Back to you again...--

"SHIT. IT'S ALMOST NOON. FUCK-"

You had overslept, forgot to shower, forgot to unpack anything, and of course forgot about the schedule this place was on. Scrambling out of bed, your ratty clothes found themselves on the floor. First, you put on a new and much needed set of underthings. Thank God for that too. Your previous, and now discarded, bra and underwear were on the floor in a sweaty messy pile. Laundry could be dealt with later. Your uniform was then hastily shoved on while rants and curses left your lips:

Your new wardrobe consisted of: a set of dark the quite common tactical pants, socks, boots, a red button up shirt, and lastly your lab coat. The socks, pants, and boots were thrown on first. Seeing that the pants were a smidge too big, you were thankful you had brought your belt. The pant legs were stuffed into your boots while your shirt was being buttoned up and tucked in. It was a simple, thankfully clean, uniform, and it was much better than what you arrived in. Your coat? Nah, it wasn't the time to deal with the whole ensemble. Running out the door, your brain decided to slam on the breaks again:

Your physical.  
Shit.

Bee-lining yourself away from the mess hall, you made a mad sprint towards the infirmary. Were you too late? Was the doctor going to scold you? How mandatory was this appointment? Would you get written up for putting it off on your first day? These were silly worries, but to you they possibly meant the end of the new world you had just been placed in - and being locked up in a cell.

As your anxieties grew louder and louder in your ears, they abruptly were placed on mute. You had whipped around the corner, just short of the infirmary, to have your face smashed against what you thought was a wall. A firm, strongly built wall-wait was that a grey cotton vest?

"Scheisse!"

German? The wall spoke German?  
Oh no.

Ice blue eyes glared down towards you from behind disheveled spectacles. Your own (e/c) ones stared back like a frightened sheep. You had just slammed your entire weight into a unsuspecting, and now kind of agitated, Medic. "I AM SO SORRY, SIR." Your body automatically scrambles back as you attempt to create acceptable social distance. Regaining some composure, you crossed your arms with a sigh, "I mean- I apologize, Medic. I suppose I'm going to be written up for being so late? It's no excuse, but I dozed off once I hit the sack." The doctor's expression didn't budge. Soon an eyebrow was cocked, "Written up? Nein, Neuling. Z'he physical is mandatory, ja. But it's fine if you need some time to adjust. Just come by to the infirmary when you are able to." At least he seemed.. understanding and reasonable, despite his grim expression. 

The Medic hadn't been this agitated when you had met him moments before. Had something happened?  
And wait-Neuling? Why was he calling you that?

"If you'd like, v'he could always go ahead and start z'he procedure now-"

All thoughts, comments, and offers were off the table as the entire base was booming with an ominous voice. Wait.. You knew that voice. The Administrator.

"ALERT! THE PAYLOAD MUST BE DELIVERED! MOVE!"

Payload? What payload? What base? Was the fight starting now?!

"Gut. It's time. Looks like your physical examination v'ill have to v'ait!"

With urgency, you felt a larger hand yank you forward as your feet dragged behind you. Your eyes shot up to see the visage of the Medic as you were pulled along. His expression was now no longer stoic and angry looking...

"Come, Chemist! Show me v'hat your research is capable of!"

His eyes.  
Oh God, his eyes.  
They were shining with a kind of evil that seemed almost inhuman.

What were you about to get yourself into now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor thing didn't even get a chance to properly settle in. The doctor is definitely not fully in his rocker, is he? Time for the nitty gritty and fighting in Chapter 4! :) And yes, I know that respawn/resurrection has not been covered yet, but I will cover that also, I promise!
> 
> Translations:  
> |GERMAN|  
> Gut - Good  
> Scheisse - Shit  
> Verdammt - Damn  
> Dummkompf - Fool  
> Neuling - Newbie/Newcomer


	4. Poison, Spies, and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes.  
> Oh God his eyes.  
> They were shining with a kind of evil that seemed almost inhuman.

Suddenly, everything had evolved into a chaotic blur. 

One instant you were being dragged to the main hanger to prepare for some sort of "payload delivery" and the next, your combat uniform was shoved on with great haste while the others did the same. To contrast the Medic and his signature white, healer's coat on the battlefield... Your labcoat was of the darker nature - the sign of a walking plague. It was black. Strapped to your face was a respirator with a face shield to keep you safe from your own weapons. The only things that stood strong against the dangerous hue was the bright red shirt collar that peaked through, your face shield being tinted red, and the bold yellow patch on your arms. 

Your insignia had been assigned - a beaker with smog coming out of it.   
Perfect.

Armed to the teeth, your team was ready. Then once again, the blur and rush came and went... You were now on the battlefield of what they called "Upward" - not even five minutes into your first fight. 

Currently, you were with a certain pyromaniac as his back up. It had made the most sense at the time of the initial, pre-fight huddle. Your primary weapon, aside from your assault rifle and pistol, was a custom a GP-25 grenade launcher with special cartridges full of different types of chemicals - gases and liquids - all of which were lethal on their own to others and to yourself. It also came with a spray-nozzle, much like Pyro's flamethrower, that could dispense either the liquids or gases to create a needed smog or cover.

The best part...  
It was all highly flammable.

The Pyro had seemed delighted in the pair up. You, on the other hand, were thankful you were not just tossed to the wolves at the very start. When the battle began, the Administrator's voice rang clear across the area - signalling the start of the fight between the two rivals. There was an immediate chorus of bullets, shouts, and cries of agony carrying itself from the other exits. You and Pyro, on the other hand, left through the back - Exit D. Why hadn't you gone with the others?

...And now here you were, hunched behind a corner with your teammate while your comrades fought in the distance.

You were being instructed through a series of "Mmmphs", "Muurrrms", and hand gestures of what was to be expected during the fight. The most you could make out was your task was the cover the flank while your team pushed the cart up the spiral of the mountain. You two hadn't run into any BLUs yet. Actually, you never had seen what your competition even looked like...

Were they ugly brutes?  
Were they more skilled?  
How strong were they?  
How would they stand against your toxins?

"MMERPH!"

A sudden shout from Pyro snapped you out of your thoughts. The pyromaniac was spraying a burst of fire around you - the heat causing you to retract and hold your GP-25 away from the flames.

"WHAT THE HELL, PYRO?!"

Flammable materials remember? Now the pair up didn't seem like such a good idea.

"Oh hon hon..."

From the gathering fire and bellows of smoke rang a characteristcally French laugh. You find yourself relaxing, "Oh it's just you, Spy." With a squint, you could barely make out the sillohuette of the Spy. However, as you drew closer, Pyro quickly pulled you back forcefully before a butterfly knife found its way deep into your sternum - wounding him instead.

"What the fuck-?!"

You fell back into the gravel with a thud. Pyro, although wounded, stood between you and the attacker. What had gotten into Spy?!

"Vous n'êtes pas très intelligent, n'est-ce pas?"

The voice cut through the smoke again - but you could hear and feel that it wasn't your teammate.

"MMRERH!!"

Before you could start asking questions, the Pyro let out a quick burst of heated air from his flamethrower - forcing distance between the two of you and your enemy. He then yanked the knife from his arm, blood coating the dirt.

The smoke cleared. 

There stood a man who looked like the perfect doppleganger of your Spy. The same height, the same stances, the same weapons... but... His voice wasn't warm, and his eyes held a blood thirsty glare.

Most importantly: his clothes were of a different color - they were a navy blue.

How was this even possible?!

Wait.. Blue...  
BLU.  
He was a BLU Spy.

Your mind struggled to process the possibility of the two men being twins or the man before you just coincidentally looking and sounding the exact same. Pyro could see his teammate was frozen in shock. But behind him, his BLU opponent had vanished. This wasn't good.

-[PYRO'S POV]-

Rushing forward, all Pyro could think of was getting the newbie out of here before the Frenchman returned. He cursed from behind his mask prison - they should have briefed her in more to what was actually going to happen in their fights, what these wars consisted of, what twisted reality they lived in instead of slacking off after she arrived. 

Reaching toward her, Pyro managed to drag the woman to her feet before shoving her form the other way, "Get out of here!!" was muffled by the mask - curse this thing! Thankfully, the message rang loud and clear as the Chemist's expression changed from confusion to understanding before rapidly spiraling into to shock...

You felt warmth fill your suit while the scent of iron seeped through your mask.

Eyes cast down, you could see your life drip down the handle of a blade and onto the gravel below. That wretched voice ringing clear in your ear,

"I am going to filet you like a salmon."

Then everything started to go black...

-[Back to you...]-

You had to run. For the love of God, you HAD TO RUN. Your body sat fearfully rigid. Your eyes were wide in panic. Your brow dripping a nervous sweat and from the linger heat of the Pyro's flames.

You should have taken the "invitation" to this battleground more seriously.

Suddenly, your body had moved on its own-No. It had some help. Pyro had literally grabbed you again and shoved you away,

"MHMMPH MUURRNN!"

Then it clicked. You had to get out of here! Before your legs could will themselves to carry out this plan, you forced a hand out to Pyro to take. They were hurt and needed immediate medical attention for that arm injury - you both also deserved this chance to escape.

But alas..  
It was in vain.

You stood witness as the Pyro's chest was skewered through by formerly disposed butterfly knife. And from thin air came the haunting voice again: "I am going to filet you like a salmon." As the voice seemed to emerge from no where, so did its host. Soon the once hidden BLU Spy reappeared in front of you, his knife still buried deep into the Pyro's chest.

What?! Invisibility?!

With a graceful movement, the blade was then removed from it's human sheath - leaving your teammate's body to fall slowly to the ground with a thud. Now, your blood rang in your ears while sheer panic seemed to radiate from your person.

"So.. You are the newest RED scum, Madamoiselle?"

The BLU Spy turned his attention now to you, stalking forward, "I'll be sure to enjoy inflicting your first wound and being your first ticket straight to Hell." His sneer grew as your body trembled. The man only got closer with each step, and before long... your Flight reaction erupted into full Fight.

"EAT KING WATER, asshole!!"

In a quick second, you finger shakily found its home against your weapon's second trigger - releasing a sudden spray of poisonous liquid chemicals into the face of the Frenchman. He let out an erupt scream of agony,

"Mon Dieu! Mes yeux! Mes yeux!!"

It was one of your many experiments being put to work on the poor BLU's face and soon lungs. What you had drenched him with was a healthy dose of aqua regia - King's Water. It was basically a mixture of hydrochloric acid and nitric acid. Although deadly by themselves, the two proved fatal when combined resulting in highly toxic fumes that could suffocate you in a burning smog. However, if that didn't kill you, you'd suffer from tremendously fatal burns that went even past the third degree. Also, yours was a much stronger, more focused concoction.

Your enemies would basically melt.

And this poor BLU Spy was your first victim.

Letting out a final croak of pain, the Spy fell to the ground. His face, head, and chest cavity had been melted down and through into an acidic soup of slushied flesh, blood, pus, and now liquid bone marrow. He now was truly a faceless man - literally. 

Letting out a sigh of relief, you then flicked a switch on your grenade launcher while quickly shoving an empty canister into the bottom.

VROOOOOOM!!

Your weapon had been turned into a vaccum. This was a last minute fail safe you luckily decided to install some time ago say you had an accident in the lab. Now, although you could not gather the soupy remains, the poisonous gas left behind was now contained in what was now extra ammo - useful when in a pinch for more catridges.

Ripping your respirator off, your eyes stung. It wasn't from the lingering microscopic remainders of poison in the air or the vile stench of the corpse stew. It was from the horrors you just had been forced to witness. It wasn't that you couldn't fight or shoot a gun or hadn't witnessed death before. It was that your work had not been put to the test on the field. You knew it had deadly consquences, but no. Nothing could have prepared you for the ghastly results that they produced. And your teammate... 

Poor Pyro.   
His body lay a few feet in front of you in a pool of glimmering red. Gathering yourself, you stood with shaking knees. Now you knew what you could do, and now you knew what to expect. 

Dopplegangers.  
Clones.  
Twisted twins.  
Replicas.

Whatever they were, BLU members and RED members were all physically alike - causing confusion, fear, and dread. The only thing you could rely on now on the field was the distinct personality differences and contrasting colors.

Let's hope this would be enough to guarantee your survival. You turned tail and ran for the sounds of gunfire and screams.

After running about a mile or two, you found your team - they were both almost there and half the headcount you had started the fight with. Furrowed brows, you shake off the need to ask about the missing members' whereabouts and joined the fray. You positioned yourself behind the cover of the cart with Soldier and Engineer - pushing it forward with all your might.

"Where in the hell is Pyro?"  
"Maggot!! You were supposed to cover our six!!!"  
"We were cornered by a Spy! He.. He didn't make it!"

The two men grew silent before giving you a knowing nod. Soldier broke the silence with a battle cry, "LET'S GO, MEN! FOR THAT FLAMING SON OF A BITCH!!" He then removed himself from the protection of the payload - rockets ready. "For cryin' out loud! That idiot is gonna get himself killed again!"

Wait. Again?

"Khimik!"

A thundering Russian voice erupted through the sound of scattered bullets and rocket explosions. The Heavy and Medic were making their way up to you, "Good! You are still in one piece. This is good!" Seeing Mikhail gave you a much needed sense of relief. With a quick nod, your respirator soon found itself back on your face with a strong tug to secure it. Now was not the time to relax.

"Yes. It is good, and it's good to see you!"

Heavy let out another thunderous eruption of mad laughter as he trudged towards the front lines - spraying the enemy with Sasha's fatal kisses... High caliber bullets.

"CRY SOME MORE, BABIES!"

You couldn't help but peek over the cart to see some bodies dressed in blue fall to the ground from the hail storm of metal. 

A BLU Soldier, a BLU Scout, and a BLU Pyro fell victim to the Russian's killing spree.

Seeing the likeness in the now dead BLUs, you winced - especially after seeing their Pyro fall. A glimmer of red catches your peripheral and someone spoke,

"Nun, Chemiker. It is not z'he time to stare. You must fight."

It was the Medic. He stood behind the rest of you whilst keeping the Heavy alive with the help of his Medigun - the red, healing beam startling you until you realized what it was being used for.

It was healing the Heavy faster than he took injury, keeping him alive as they pressed on.  
Impressive.

Taking a breath, you took heed to the Medic's wise words and pressed foward, running to the front and the Heavy's side. You shout," EVERYONE! Hold your breath! Shut your eyes!" And with that... you fire.

CLUNK! CLUNK! CLUNK!  
SSSSSSSTTTT!!

Several canisters were sent forward, and a they released some of the collected aqua regia gas you had gathered earlier. A thick orange cloud settled in front of you as any BLUs in range were smothered out. It didn't cover a vast area, but it'd be enough to cause the enemy to retreat back. As your team and cart blindly marched on, you each could feel the toxic air sting any exposed skin.

CRACK!

A gunshot sang through the air before another body fell from the toxic cloud. Then another. Then another. A headshot wound clearly visible on their foreheads. It looks like your toxic smokescreen did more than just push the enemy back - it had forced some of them out in the open... creating the perfect target practice for your Sniper who sat back in a perch somewhere.

Once through the remaining orange cloud, your teammates and yourself let out relieved gasps for much needed oxygen. You hear the Engineer let out a nervous laugh, "Remind me to not get on your bad side, darlin'! That stuff bites!" This was followed by a grunt of agreement from Heavy, and an insane cackle from Medic,

"Z'hat was WUNDERBAR, mein freund!"

At this you could not help but let out your own laugh - laced with bitterness:

"If you think that was good. You all should've seen what I did to their Spy."

Trudging forward a little while longer, the cart neared the final checkpoint. You could feel relief rush over you - this would finally be over. 

The Administrator's voice began to count down...

"Five..."

So close.

"Four..."

Almost there!

"Three..."

Homestretch!

"Two...!"

Finally!

"One..!"

The tires of the rickety cart screeched to a halt. Everything was finally over. You now could rest, bury your dead, go back to the base... the same moment of satisfaction and victory, it suddenly took a turn:

"...OVERTIME."

WHAT?!

"SCHEISSE!"  
"Oh, for cryin' out loud!!"  
"Cart stopped!!"

You didn't understand. You were here! You had made it! Running to the back of the cart, you try to give the cart a big ol' shove. 

Nothing.

You try again.  
Still nothing.

Was the cart stuck? But you had made it to the point! Frustrated you gave the cart another hard kick. Your teammates on the other hand were just as confused, but they were also on guard. They had seen this before...

Carts were only stopped by nearby enemies - a little trick the Administrator conducted to keep the fight going as long as possible. Oh how they hated it.

"Keep your guard up, boys..."  
"Something very wrong..."  
"Verdammt.."

Then it dawned on them: Spy.

CRACK!!

A bullet buzzed past your head with a whistle before a splash of blood painted your face. Where had that-?! It then became clear. Sniper had spotted the cloaked Spook from his perch - nailing the bugger just short of a headshot. He hated these god damm things.

"Bugger..."

The man took aim again as the Spy's cloaking device malfunctioned from the shot. The bullet had only taken out his ear. Wait-The BLU Spy you had mercilessly fried was standing there.

How?!

Without time to think, the Frenchman was already close enough to strike, "-And this is for what you did to my face, la chienne!!" But as soon as he reappeared, he was screaming in pain.... and on fire?

No.

Turning in the direction of the flames, the source was found. Pyro. He too was in one piece - alive. Before you could ask any questions, and as the BLU Spy was reduced to cinders, the Administrator finally screeched:

"VICTORY. RED TEAM WINS."

It was over. In a flurry of excitment and relief, your eyes caught glimpses of your team... How could those that previously fallen still be standing or have the ability to rise from the dead?!

"Guys, what's-"

...Iron. You tasted iron.

"Ah shit!"  
"Mrepmmh!!"  
"Chemist!"  
"Little lady-!"

Your body collapsed to the ground as your mouth gargled up more blood. It was the Spy. Pyro had not been fast enough.

...He had managed to stab you.  
The wound was fairly deep and fatal.

As the voices around you became muffled, all you could soon see were different sized blobs of red before succumbing to your final slumber.

What was going on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no. You're dead.  
> But wasn't Pyro also dead? What about the BLU Spy?
> 
> More to come in chapter 5!
> 
> ||Translations||
> 
> Sheisse! - Shit!  
> Verdammt - Damn!
> 
> "Vous n'êtes pas très intelligent, n'est-ce pas?" - You are not very intelligent, are you?
> 
> "Mon Dieu! Mes yeux! Mes yeux!!" - My God! My eyes! My eyes!!


	5. Avoiding Death by Playing God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...As the voices around you became muffled, all you could soon see were different sized blobs of red before succumbing to your final slumber...

It had been a little over 12 hours since your premature death. Your soul was now wandering aimlessly. You realized you weren't in the presence of the grand, golden gates of heaven nor were you burning in the sulfur lakes of hell. 

This was your purgatory - a limbo of nothingness.

Your ghostly visit to the void was abruptly halted by the sudden burst of light. Was it finally your time? 

Nope.  
It was your time to go back.

WIth a startled gasp, you feel yourself scramble forward from a cold examination table. The white glow of eerie fluorescent lights hanging above you cause you to immediately shield yourself from the artificial rays. Your weak (e/c) eyes squint before darting back and forth as they attempt to decipher your surroundings...

You were on top of a steel table. There were IVs, gurneys, medical curtains, medical tools and the like scattered around the room. There were also what looked to be a bucket of different organs and blood sitting next to your table on the floor below. And were those feathers? A fridge? The room was fairly large save from all the medical equipment that seemed to line every wall.

It wasn't until your eyes fell onto the familiar red healing beam of a Medigun flowing down to you from the ceiling. Following the trail, you then find your chest sewed shut underneath your blood-caked, soiled uniform.

That's right... the Spy had stabbed you-  
Wait.  
Didn't you die?!

"Ah! Gut! Du bist wach!"

The sound of the German tongue rang in your ears before the Medic popped into your line of sight - smiling his cheshire grin. "I v'as becoming v'orried your body was not going to handle z'he procedure..." What? Procedure? Your lips part to speak, but the man only received a struggling croak as a reply. Your throat was so painfully dry...

"Ah. Ja. I forgot about z'hat..."

A cold glass of water was placed into your hands. You chug the contents down, thankful.

"..According to my calculations, you v'ere legally dead for about... zwölf hours? It's about midnight!"

The remaining water was spat out in a sudden spray. LEGALLY. DEAD?! You then find your fingers angrily wrapped into the doctor's once crisp shirt collar and red tie. The last of the water dripped down your chin... adding to your ferocity. Pulling him close in shocked anger and adrenaline, you manage to snarl,

"What... do you mean... I was DEAD?! What. Did. You. DO?!"

The Cheshire grin did not falter as a chuckle escaped from Medic's lips, "Ja! To z'hink I v'as able to successfully bring you back after you had been dead for so long! Ha ha! V'hat an accomplishment! Normally, I'd be able to revive you on z'he field-" The rest became jabber to your ears. 

This mad man had brought you back from the dead - the absolute impossible! How?! Why?! You shook him by his collar again,

"-You ACTUALLY messed in God's domain and broke the laws of life and death?!"

Your voice managed to come back in full now. In aggravation, you push the Medic back. Your blood pressure slowly lowering as you attempt to calm yourself. You couldn't act irrationally. This man, although against all odds, bought you back to the living. In a way you were thankful, but you were primarily disgusted. 

He had basically made your former corpse into a science experiment. 

Your body sat back finally - mind still processing everything. Another cackle shortly erupted through the room again, "It's not exactly z'hat difficult to do, mein freund! Bringing back z'he dead, ha! Das kinderspiel!" With a huff, you hop off of the table and turn to leave, "You're insane. I'm leaving-" A bloodied glove took a hold of your shoulder.

Was that your blood?

"Now, now, Neuling, v'e cannot let you leave just yet. Z'he mandatory physical? You are overdue."

With furrowed brows, you could only stare. Every fiber in your being was telling you to book it for the door behind you. Your curiosity, however, kept you planted. Regardless of your disgust, the Medic had done the impossible... and judging on his recent remarks: he had done this numerous times. 

You took in a deep breath, caving to your curious mind, "Right... Okay." It was practically 12:20 AM by now, and you were already here so... what the hell.

With a nod, it was as if the doctor had a switch - his crazed expression faded and a more stoic, professional one took its place.

"Let us begin."

First, you were sent behind a medical curtain to change into some white scrubs. 

"Only down to your  
unterwäsche, please. Und be sure to keep z'he opening in the front."

Doing as instructed, you eventually found yourself back onto the examination table again while the Medic was off to the side, washing his hands and arms down in a sink. The level of professionalism being displayed was certainly different than the man you were just speaking to moments ago. Lost in your thoughts, the basics of the exam went smoothly:

Cold hands were placed along the sides of your neck - surprisingly gentle, as they felt around your lymph nodes for any abnormalities. Before long they were turning and twisting your head from side to side with curious eyes checking everything from the condition of your skin, your eyes, and ears. "Gut... Gut.." The Medic's voice would occasionally creep out in a whisper as the man muttered to himself. Soon after, blood was drawn and general vaccines were given also. As for everything else:

Height... 165 centimeters.  
Weight... A healthy 63.5 kilograms with decent amounts of muscle.  
Eyes were receptive to movement and light.  
Hearing was good.  
Reflexes were also very good.

Besides your still tender wound, by Medic's standards, you had a passing grade of health. You now sat still as the man held your wrist, checking your pulse. The physical was unlike what you expected. It was minimally invasive save for your personal space bubble and being forced in these ugly scrubs. Medic then turned away from you to write something down, giving you the chance to breathe,

"So..."

"Ja..?"

There was a moment of silence as the calculating blues peered over silver specs into your (e/c) ones before returning back to whatever was being scribbled,

"How did you manage to play God? How do you bring back the dead?"

The dancing of the pen stopped, and the air of the room grew dark again. With the familiar chuckle, the German spoke, "I am simply a gifted man, Neuling." This was not the answer you wanted, but you took it. The man would probably, hopefully, explain everything to you in due time. He spoke again in an amused tone now, 

"And before you ask, ja. Herr Pyro, Herr Soldier, and Herr Demoman are fine. Like v'ith you, I... played God."

After a couple tests more, you were sent away to change back into your uniform - in its filthy, bloody glory. "Ugh.. this is gross.", your face twisted into a look of disgust. Medic glanced up towards you momentarily before glancing back down towards some papers he was scanning over,

"If you need to have it cleaned, v'e have some wäschereieinheiten near the locker rooms."

You raise a brow.

"...laundry units, Neuling."

"Oh. Right. Thanks."

"...Bitte."

As you turn to leave, a flash of white blocks your vision before a sharp, scratching sensation is felt on your scalp. What on Earth?! Your eyes glance upwards only to be greeted by what looked like the face of a dove peering back down at you.

Wait-Was it covered in blood?

"Ach! Archimedes, nein! Verdammter vogel. Setz dich nicht auf den kopf der frau! Das ist unhöflich!"

Medic rush over to your aid and plucked the dove from your head, "Entschuldigen sie... Archimedes enjoys nesting in hair. I have told him it is very rude." Rubbing the top of your head, you turn to finally get a good look at Archimedes. 

Such a small, fragile creature.

It was somewhat funny to think about, considering the man was far from what you could consider 'angelic' or 'pure' to have the bird that symbolized such things... aside from being the 'angel of the battlefield'. With a shake of your head, you replied,

"Eh. Don't worry about it. I'll be prepared next time."

And with that, you left the infirmary for some well needed rest.  
It was already past 2 AM or so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this chapter was so much shorter than the last! But at least now we got some more interactions between you and the Medic! :)  
> More to come in Chapter 6!
> 
> Translations...
> 
> "Ah! Gut! Du bist wach!" - Ah! Good! You are awake!  
> zwölf - 12  
> Das kinderspiel - Child's play  
> Neuling - Newbie/Newcomer  
> unterwäsche - undergarments  
> "Ach! Archimedes, nein! Verdammter vogel. Setz dich nicht auf den kopf der frau! Das ist unhöflich!" - "Oh! Archimedes, no! Damn bird. Don't sit on the woman's head! It's rude!"  
> Bitte - You're welcome  
> Entschuldigen sie - My apologies


	6. Not-A-Doctor & A Gentle Giant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... "How did you manage to play God? How do you bring back the dead?"...  
> ..."Like v'ith you, I... played God."

The day was now August 12, 1968.  
At exactly 5 AM. Five in the damn morning.  
Your second day in.

You were wrapped up snugly underneath your red sheets - happy to finally be in a safe place after the hell you went through yesterday. With a purr of appreciation of your pillow, the happiness was destroyed by the sound of a morning bugle blaring outside.

God damn Soldier.

Your eyes were lined in dark rings, your body ached and creaked with annoyance from every move you made, and your hair (though short) still managed to style itself in a wild, wacky way. Sitting up, after only four to five hours of sleep, you let out a low growl.

That damn Yankee was going to regret waking you up so early.  
But then... there were bagpipes.  
FUCKING. BAGPIPES. Demoman had joined in.

"Are you kidding me-..."

You hadn't exactly learned everyone's routines yet. And vice versa: They didn't know what you did with your time either. Hell you just got through your first day! Grumbling, you tossed yourself out of bed to shower. Thank God this place had decent water pressure and hot water! After a quick scrub and rinse, and your body being free from old blood, sweat, and filth, you started the day in a slightly better mood.

Still grumpy.  
But better.

Tossing on the bottom layers of your uniform - underthings, pants, button up, socks, and boots - you dragged yourself towards the mess hall.

In case you had forgotten, not like your stomach would let you: You hadn't eaten a single damn thing in the last 24 hours.

"Ey! Sleepin' beauty! Mornin'!"

Scout's chipper tone sounded like a train wreck in your ears. You wince, "For fuck's sake, Scout. Keep it down will you..?" The young man only laughed, "Someone ain't a mornin' person!" Your fingers made way to your temples in an attempt to rub away the pain.

This sucked.

Upon entering the mess hall, you were greeted by the rich, mouth watering aroma of pancakes. Looks like it was the Engineer's turn to cook! You salviated with a strong need for those luciously fluffy flat cakes. The Texan noticed your hungry eyes and laughed,

"Grab a plate and sit on down, darlin'! You must be mighty hungry after all you went through yesterday!"

He didn't have to tell you twice!

Quickly grabbing a stack of flapjacks, both you and Scout made your way over to one of the tables. It wasn't long before the fluffy towers were drenched in sweet butter and glistening in sticky syrup and eventually consumed.

"HAHA! Little girl has strong appetite. Hungry like raging bear. This is good!"

Ah, the Russian thunder returned. Sitting down across from his younger comrades with a heavy thud, Heavy's plate definitely out matched both your's and Scout's combined. A very large man with a very large appetite. Taking just as gigantic bites, Heavy spoke with a full face,

"Om nom nom..! So! Is good to also see you in one piece! Doktor is a good man who is good at job!"

The broken English from the man sprayed a little bit of spit and pancake bits causing Scout to attempt to poorly shield his own pancake heaven from the spread, "Yo! Dude! Watch it!" You lift a napkin to your lips, cleaning yourself from the gooey leftovers from your own meal, "Yes. Yes he is." A voice cuts through the air:

"On the contrary, the man is absolutely mad."

Thickly dressed in a French accent, it was unmistakably from the RED Spy. He had stepped into the mess hall with his usual flair.

You felt yourself freeze.

The fear crept up your spine. You couldn't help but see a blue hue to the Frenchman's suit over the strong red. Shaking your head to clear it, you tried greeting Spy with a nervous smile,

"Good morning, Spy."

Sensing your discomfort, the assassin softened his tone and expression,

"Bonjour, Chemist."

There was that hint if warmth that the man had displayed towards you on the first day. It was the only recognizable thing that helped you tell the two apart. You relax,

"Here for some breakfast, Spy?"

"Come on, ya old frog! Eat some good food 'stead of all that frou-frou crap!"

"My apologies, but I am afraid my palette is of a higher caliber than this mess you call... food."

Giving a slightly apologetic glance towards the Engineer, the two seemed to not be on bad terms over it, "Nah. It doesn't bother me none. Go do what'you like, Spy!" With a nod and a curt "Merci." the assassin bid his farewell before leaving the room again.

Taking another bite of whatever was left on your plate, you ask, "So... what exactly did he mean about the doc' being... mad and all?" Both Heavy and Scout stopped mid bite or mid chew - unsure of how to answer. Engineer wasn't any better, standing silent while serving a couple plates more to Soldier, Demoman, and Pyro who had just walked in. They too were silent.

"Man's a nut job. Spook's right."

Stepping in, Sniper trudged into the mess hall, "Sorry to interject on your conversation... Just givin' my two sense is all." You shake your head - at least someone had the nerve to reply. The bushman continued:

"All I'm saying is, the wanker is a complete loon. He's done numerous experiments of his on us - each stranger and stranger each time-"

In the midst of this somewhat ominous story time, the Medic himself steps in.  
A smile cast upon his features.

"Ah, ja. It v'as some time ago... But, z'he greatest accomplishment I have ever made v'as v'hen I had z'his young gentlemen come to my clinic one day - complaining about some back pain..."

The room grew quiet. Then Medic continued:

"...He had mentioned z'hat the pain was so severe, that it felt as if every single one of his bones v'as utterly screaming in pure agony. So.. I took care of it-"

Scout leaned over towards your ear, "'Ere it comes..."

"-By z'he time I was finished v'ith him, I v'as successful in removing his entire skeleton! Und mein Gott! Z'he man v'as still able to v'alk around and go about his day! But z'hen I decided to take my practices elsewhere... As I had lost my medical license-"

The conversation screeched to a halt as your fists slammed down against the table. Scout jumped back with a scream while the rest all stared back at you... Even the doctor was startled. This man wasn't even a certified DOCTOR? He not only performed medical procedures - unorthodox ones - on every single person in this room (supposedly), AND not to mention yourself (for this you were certain of)?! 

"You're not even a god damn doctor?!"

Heavy soon stood, towering over you, "Do not lash out at doctor..." Although his size was intimidating, your rising anger was all you could think of. How could someone like him even be allowed to be here let alone be allowed to continue any of his work? With a now stoic expression, Dr. Cold came back, and there was a venom now to his voice:

"Und? V'hat of it? Everyone here... Herr Heavy. Herr Scout, Herr Sniper, Herr Spy... Everyone here is from different backgrounds. As are you, Chemikerin. So I v'ouldn't point fingers out so carelessly. If I remember correctly, you melted a man down to a literal stew. You are not unschuldig either, Neuling."

Your (e/c) eyes only stared back into the sharp, blue ones. Snatching your tray, you removed yourself from the table before stomping out of the room. The others said nothing - knowing it was clear you had to blow off some steam. Medic, on the other hand, shifted back into what appeared to be his more lax self - commenting on Engineer's flapjacks as if the conversation hadn't even happened.

The man was a literal Jekyll and Hyde.

\------

It was now just around 9:00 AM.  
You were now in the training room taking out some of the morning's stresses on a poor punching bag. Your button-up was tossed to the side on a nearby chair to save you from sweating through it. At least your tank top underneath was much more comfortable as well as being easier to move around in.

But back to what you were angry about:

How could no one have said anything to her? How could they have let an utter nutter do whatever the hell it was he did to bring her back to life? How could have they have just stood there?

"Assholes..!!"

You let out a grunt of frustration as the punching bag rocked back and forth with great force from each swing you threw. So this.. this.. Not-A-Doctor was not only approved by his team, but also approved by Ms. Pauling and the Administrator? What kind of place was this?! With one last swing, your bruised knuckles couldn't take much more.

Damn, you should have wrapped your hands before wailing on this sand bag...

With a sigh, you sat down on the mats. It hadn't even been two days, TWO DAYS, and you were already developing some resentment against your team. First - no one cared to mention the BLU team was a bunch of psychotic look-a-likes. Second - you had DIED. Third - some freak scientist decided to play God with your body, and others, in order to bring you back from the dead. And four - THE LOON WASN'T EVEN A LICENSED DOCTOR.

This was all WAY too much.

"So... Like Heavy you come to gym to blow off steam. This is good."

Ah, Heavy. You figured that someone would eventually bump into you after this morning's episode. Looking behind you towards the giant, you quickly turn back around and huff, "I guess you could say that... What are you doing here, Heavy?" The weight of his footsteps drew closer before the Russian soon knelt down by your side, "Like you, I come here to let out steam. It is good to do this. Anger is not good." You couldn't help but cock your head to this statement. Was it that obvious that you were that upset?

"Apologies if Heavy has upset Little Girl."

Then you relaxed with a shake of your head, "No, no. I'm sorry. I shouldn't gotten angry with everyone. The Medic was right. We all have different stories, and of course, we all aren't exactly of the legal type, are we?" The man lets out his signature booming laughter, "HAHA! No, no! Whole team is not legal. We all are deadly men... and little girl. Mercenaries." Helping you up, the Russian then continued:

"Look. Doctor is not bad man. He has saved many people, even Heavy-"

Your hands found your hips as you stared at your teammate with a questionable stare.

"-And yes. He is not sane. Doctor can be fairly insane."

Running a hand through your (h/c) hair, you stated, "There's obviously a reason you all trust him. But please respect why I am upset, regardless of any of our reasons for that trust and for our being here." To this, the gentle giant nodded deeply, "Hmm.. This is reasonable." After a moment of silence, Heavy walks over to the punching bag - picking it up with ease and setting it to the side. He then faces you, fists up:

"Khimik... Let us fight."

A spar? With this behemoth? Despite the intimidation, you could tell the Russian meant well. Out of everyone here, although it had only been a couple of days, he treated you with respect - like a person. With a smirk and a nod, you stood: 

"Let's go, big guy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like you have at least earned one friend in this hell hole.  
> More to come in Chapter 7! :) Thanks for reading!


	7. Temporary Truce - A Bandaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're not even a god damn doctor?!"
> 
> "Und? V'hat of it? Everyone here... Herr Heavy. Herr Scout, Herr Sniper, Herr Spy... Everyone here is from different backgrounds. As are you, Chemikerin. So I v'ouldn't point fingers out so carelessly. If I remember correctly, you melted a man down to a literal stew. You are not unschuldig either, Neuling."
> 
> "Look. Doctor is not bad man. He has saved many people, even Heavy. And yes. He is not sane. Doctor can be fairly insane."

It was now around 10 AM.  
An hour of sparring had passed.

The scuffle with the Heavy was just what you needed. You gave the large beast a couple of decent punches before he returned the favor... Well, not to his full, mighty Russian power. Heavy held back to keep from hurting you too badly. Now tired and sweaty, not to mention sore, the giant and woman laid back on the floor mats with smiles on their faces,

"Little Girl is very strong. You remind me of my sister. Zhanna."

This was the first time you had been told any sort of personal history by one of the mercs. The Heavy had a sister? You let out a small laugh. It now made sense as to why the guy was probably acting so kind with you.

It was due to that familiarity.  
The comfort of having something similar to his family close by. Either way, you didn't mind.

"Well maybe some day I can meet your sister. What is she like?"

The Russian behemoth sat up with a deep chuckle, "Sister-s. There are three: Zhanna, Yana, and Bronislava. They are brave, strong, stubborn... Much like Khimik." His eyes softed when recollecting their memory in his mind before turning to you again, "Do you have family?" The question threw you off for a split second. Since coming here-no, since going on the run, you hadn't really taken the time to think of your blood relatives.

"..I do. But I have not seen them in years."

In response, Heavy let out a deep sigh,

"I see." 

You didn't want your teammate to misunderstand. It wasn't like your family members were bad people or that your previous life was bad. You were born in the spring of 1931 to a wonderful mother and a bread-winning father in a small town of (insert) in (insert). Growing up, you had been raised well: polite, impeccably bright, and hardworking. You had fantastic grades, eventually went to a great college, and then left to become one of the few female scientists - an admirable life that led up to a wonderful career. It wasn't until you mingled with the wrong crowd and began producing chemical weaponry... And eventually began enjoying your lethal line of work. This work came its share of dangers and consequences, so you also got involved in the use of firearms.

Your family didn't care for any of it.  
You didn't care for getting them mixed up in your work. So you left. 

Call it selfish. Selfless. Out of love. Out of resentment.  
It was what it was.

You had been on the run since 1956, being wanted by law enforcement for about a decade. It wasn't before long that the Administrator picked up your toxic scent and soon roped you to come here. This entire time, all you had given your folks the radio silence treatment and vise versa.

It had come to a point where you frankly stopped thinking about them.  
Until today.

"Enough sad talk-"

Heavy stood, "-We should head back." Offering one of his massive hands, he helped you back onto your feet. "Fight helps you feel better, da?" Removing your family thoughts from your head space, you focused on your teammate with a smile, "Yeah. I feel better. Thank you, Heavy." The Russian's brows furrowed, 

"For-?"

"Telling me a bit more about you and helping me blow off some steam."

The giant gave your hair a ruffle before following you out the door.  
It had only been two days, and you had made your first friend.

\-----------

-::MEDIC'S POV::-

How dare that woman speak to you in such a way! 

It hadn't been too long after breakfast period, and the Chemist's accusation was still very much alive in the back of your mind. You slink back into your leather chair with a grumble. The safe haven of your personal quarters didn't help much in changing your mood. 

That happy-faced facade after she left?  
Pssh, what kinderspiel it was!  
You were agitated, offended even.

Fortunately, it didn't take much to fool your teammates to geet through the now awkward morning - a simple smile was usually all it took. Besides, it wasn't much of their business to know when you were miffed - unless you intended for them to know. You pinched the bridge of your nose as your eyes squinted shut.

A headache...  
Wunderbar.

Removing yourself from the desk, you trudged back into the infirmary in search of some aspirin. Archimedes lands on your shoulder - giving out what you took as a coo of concern. You pet his little head,

"Danke, Archimedes. I suppose z'his headache is... v'hat do z'hey say? Karma..?"

The dove only puffed out his feathers before settling down against the nape of your neck. With a chuckle, you continue to give your feathered friend light strokes. Eventually, a bottle of aspirin was discovered and two white, chalky pills were tossed down your throat. With great care, you then removed Archimedes from your shoulder and back into one of your many bird cages.

Doves.

The madman owned several doves. The bird associated with peace and purity.  
Ironic.

There was the blood obsessed Archimedes, Adalard, Brigitte, Gretel, Hans... all of which you cared for like children - the rare time you allowed yourself to go soft. Your moment of sweetness was put to an end to the sound of the infirmary doors swinging open, followed by the sound of footsteps. Your stern mask was put on again:

"Komm herein! Z'he door is open."

"Merci."

Ah, it was the Spy.

"I assume you have not apologized to the woman, non?"

"Und? Z'he Chemikerin is not v'orth mein breath, Herr Spy-"

The German accent and harsh tongue crept out as your irritation could no longer hide itself. The Frenchman was a man of many secrets - both of his own and of ones he kept from or of others. You trusted him, or at least enough where you could let your guard down some.

"-I am Deutsche. Und as such, I v'ill not take any insults to my v'ork or mein persönlichkeit lightly."

Your collegue sat back against the wall, lighting a cigarette, "Medic, as a German, you also are a man. A man of more than just pride and work. You are a gentleman. Psychotic and unstable, but a still a gentleman." You rolled your icy blues in response to the Spy's statement. He only continued,

"Ludwig, if anything at least learn to get along with the Chemist. On the field, we are expected to fight and win any battle without hitch."

"Fein... Anyz'hing else?"

"Non."

"Z'hen schönen tag, dummkoff."

\--[And back to you...]--

It was now 12 PM...  
Lunch hour.

It looked like Sniper, Spy, and Engineer had already eaten - this left you with the Heavy, Scout, Soldier, Pyro, Demoman, and of course Medic.

You sat with Heavy and Scout again - discussing your morning spar. It had left you with some bruises and sore muscles which of course Heavy had profusely apologized for - both in Russian and English, basically whichever and any way he could. Scout, on the other hand, sat there - gawking,

"Wait! You actually let 'im spar wit'ch'you?! For real? And you actually went easy on 'er?!"

With a chortle, Heavy slapped the smaller man on the back, causing him to choke slightly on a sandwich, "Of course! Khimik is much smaller than Heavy. And Khimik is also a lady. Only fair." The only thing the Russian got in response was a pout from Scout, 

"Yeah? Whateveh, fatass. You're biggeh than everyone else 'ere! You never go easy on us!"

You sat back, eating your own ham and cheese, with an amused look on your face. You swallow, "You're just sour because you know he'd kick your ass easily, Scout." This earned another hoot and hollar from not just the Heavy but Demoman and Soldier as well.

"Yah speakin' tah truth, lass!"  
"You cannot argue with facts, MAGGOT."  
"Little Scout is puny baby in ring with Heavy!!"

It was all fun and games until a sudden cough interrupted the laughter. It was the Medic - sitting to the far end of the room, lunch in front of him and a book in hand.

"V'ill you please quiet yourselves down a bit?"

Usually, you'd be more polite, but thanks to the spat from this morning, your opinion of the German man was still a little sour. Frankly, in your opinion of only 48 hours, the guy was a prick.

A bipolar, sociopathic prick.

Standing up and trudging over to him, the entire room fell into silence. Was there going to be another eruption of spiteful fireworks and harsh words? You now found yourself standing in front of the man with your arms crossed and brows scrunched.

Oh how he irked you.

Before much could be said or started, Medic beat you to it:

"Entschuldigen sie, Chemikerin."

You stopped as the room froze further. Had the man actually apologized to you? You weren't fluent in German by any means, but judging on his current expression, body posture, and tone of voice... it wasn't hard to figure out.

"I v'as... out of line zhis morning. Jetzt... V'e may not agree on everyz'hing, however for z'he sake of z'he team, I am v'illing to agree to disagree."

Okay, so it wasn't an actual apology. This was only a bandaid. Either way, you accepted it as it was better than nothing. Holding out your hand in truce, you spoke,

"Fine. I still do not trust you, Not-Doctor, but I'll agree to this."

Cocking a brow to your designated nickname for him, the Medic shook your hand firmly. 

"Gut. Z'his is acceptable, Neuling."

At least now things were at a temporary truce. And at now things would calm down some, right?

Eh. Wrong.

The all too familiar siren blared once again before the condescending voice of the Administrator screeched:

"INTRUDER ALERT: A BLU SPY IS IN THE BASE!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was a little rushed and short.
> 
> Please feel free to tell me what you think in the comments, and I'll see you next time in Chapter 8!


	8. Seeing Double

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An agreement to disagree.  
> A band-aid placed on a still stinging wound.
> 
> "Intruder alert: A BLU Spy is in the base!"
> 
> And it starts all over again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gone ahead and decided to work on emphasizing the other classes' accents more instead of just focusing on Medic's German accent.  
> So I apologize for the sudden change! I hope it helps you all dive deeper into the story and the characters some more.
> 
> But please, enjoy chapter 8!

This place was a never ending world of sheer chaos. It hadn't even been two days, and you had yet to fully get in a day of just peace and quiet. No matter. Now was not the time to complain or wonder of the what if's. 

There was an intruder in your midst.

Once again, the RED Team was armed to the teeth as they now clustered together in the locker room. You were being split into groups of five: Yourself, Pyro, Scout, Spy, and Engineer as Group A and Demoman, Soldier, Heavy, Medic, and Sniper as Group B. Why had you been split up like this? Wouldn't you have covered more ground if you all had just separated? Group A was assigned the north side of the base while Group B would travel to the southern end - they both would then congregate in the middle, the Intelligence Room. As the teams of two split up, you were stopped with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

It was Spy.

"I can z'ee you are confused, Madamoiselle. My apologies."

Shaking you head, you occupy your hands with loading your 1919 Beretta - it wasn't worth the risk bringing your grenade launching-chemical spraying vaccuum weapon. It would have caused too much collatteral damage and possibly be a risk to your teammates inside. So you chose to leave it behind for now. As for Spy, you cock a brow, "About what? I don't exactly understand why we are grouping like this. I've been up against that BLU Spy before, and all he can do is go invisible. That's not a big deal-" You were met with a light chuckle before Spy continued,

"Non. Since you still need to learn, I'll indulge you on what we are up against: Z'is man ee'z more z'an just a ghost. He can replicate and manipulate. He can take on z'ee appearance of anyone'ere down to z'ee tiniest detail. Z'oh, if we were to split up completely, he could take us out one by one. Eet'z not worth z'ee waste of blood, sweat, and breath for only one man, regardless if z'ee doctor can revive us." 

You frown,

"And no one could tell me this information before because-?"

You find your brows furrowing again. The French man reached over and pushed against your forehead with his finger tip, pushing your brows up, "If you keep doing z'at, Chemist, you'll form wrinkles. It will ruin your pretty face." With a huff you and your team follow Spy's lead. The guy was the sort who gave a cocky, almost womanizing air about him, but he was also sophisticated and cunning. This probably came with his job territory. However, on the other hand, Spy also gave off a fatherly-aura. Was he simply looking out for you out of this supposed parental instinct? Or was it only because he was thankful to have a woman around? Or was it just to keep the body count down?

Either way, you were thankful that someone else seemed to have your back.

\-----TIME SKIPPY------

it hadn't been long before your team had done a full sweep of the northern end of the RED base. There was nothing to be found. No Spy. No stolen intelligence. Nothing. At this point, Spy had decided to take the flank with Pyro. The RED Spy knew of his doppelganger's tricks and of his strong preference to come from behind for a good, solid back stabbing. 

The Frenchman was a Spy too after all. He knew they didn't always play fair.  
Unfortunately, you had been a victim of this tactic already. This was something, Spy strongly wanted to avoid again.

You were placed up front with Scout while Engineer covered the middle. For once the Bostonian was silent - his visage serious as he nervously chewed some bubble gum. The Texan could be heard behind you tapping his shotgun rhythmically with anxiousness. Pyro, too, was fairly jittery - his left index finger stroking the side of his flamethrower's trigger in wait. It was clear these guys didn't want to play around when it came to the BLU Spy possibly jumping them. Your mind wandered for a moment:

A Spy on an open field would have no where to run, and if there was enough distance between himself and an opponent, he wouldn't be able to stab them. Not only that, even with the magnum he sported so proudly, it was a stronger but slower firing weapon - an easy thing to dodge. The Spy would also be unable to disguise himself as anyone properly if they were clustered together and kept their distance. But in close quarters and in the base's twisty, backwards, and sometimes dark halls... It was a different story. So the caution made perfect sense despite how ridiculous this seemed.

"So..."

Scout finally decided to break his silence; however, kept his voice low. You glance over to him with a quick side-eye before focusing forward again as you all turned down another hallway, 

"Shoot. What is it?"

"Don't ya think it's kinda weird? We'aven't seen the bastard in like what? Ten minutes? Usually the fucker's are up in our faces right now. Or stealin' the briefcase. There haven't been any gunfire, neither. It's too damn quiet."

You were about to interject, but the Engineer cut you off, "Boy's right. Somethin' ain't right..." Pyro only let out a small grunt in agreement, his back still turned away from the front line to cover the flank. Spy only bit into one of his many cigarettes he had been smoking for the past few moments - the guy had smoked through maybe three already. You group was about to turn another corner, but...

Then, it hit you.  
The soft sweet scent of nitrous oxide - a hallucinogen.

"Hold your breath! It's nitrous oxide!"

You slap your protective helmet down on your face. Scout quickly used a free hand to hold his nose - his right hand occupied by holding his scatter gun. Engineer bit down on his lip as his breath stilled. Spy showed little to no emotion as he too ceased his breathing. Pyro luckily was spared thanks to his gas mask. Glancing back at your team, you couldn't help but notice their confused expressions.

This wasn't a typical Spy tactic.  
Hell, it wasn't even a Spy tactic at all!  
It was one of yours... How-?!

"Took them long enough to let me out on the field..."

Your voice rang in the air - only thing was, it was yours but at the same time it wasn't. You could feel the tension of your group behind you as a figure stepped out from the dark. The BLU Spy had not come alone. 

He had help. It was you.  
Your doppelganger: The BLU Chemist.

"...But I can't wait to see you all melt down to utter sludge!"

Wearing your face, speaking with your voice, copying nearly your every move... It was terrifying. Dressed in similar attire, aside from the blue insignia and blue face shield, the BLU Chemist was basically a more feral, insane, and sociopath version of... well you. Your eyes were held wide as your mind seemed to struggle with accepting the concept that you were seeing double right now. 

BAM!!

The sound of gunfire quickly snapped you back to the now. It was Scout. Instinctively, the young man sent out a few rounds from his scatter gun all while struggling to continue holding his breath. This encounter hadn't even passed a minute, yet everything felt like it was moving so fast to you. Your doppelganger suddenly sends out a spray of acid - Aqua Regia, your trademark chemical - in an attempt to... well, as stated: turn you all in to "utter sludge". With quick steps and adrenaline running through your system, you dodge your enemy's toxic rain. The group then separates - one to the left of the BLU and the other to the right. The floor boards began to melt from under the acid that fortunately missed your persons - sizzling, oozing, and slightly burning. Soon, your Beretta was held up and you also fired a few shots. Your mind raced as the clock of breath holding continued to tick down...

The others had no way of holding their breath for much longer. You could see the strain in their faces as their skin slowly turned red and sweat began to trickle down their faces. Standing still while doing so was one thing, but now that they had to avoid a crazed woman's chemical weaponry, it was so much harder to not breathe. You had to get them out... and fast. For an instant, the BLU Chemist turned her attention towards Scout - seeing he was the one having the hardest time holding his breath. She charged forward, weapon ready to bathe him in toxic fluid. Suddenly, you found your body moving on it's own, colliding with your clone - sending you both against a wall. With her weapon dropped from the impact, she was vulnerable. You also had saved Scout.

This was your opening.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

Your pistol fired into the doppelganger's side. She lets out a cry of pain before letting out maniacal laughter. A gloved fist met the left side of your face shield, cracking the plastic. You quickly shout, "Guys! Get out of here! GO!" The men looked at you dumbfounded - you were a TEAM, and they couldn't leave an ally during battle! Before they could protest, or even take a breath which they desperately needed, Engineer, Scout, and Spy were met with a trail of fire blocking their path.

Pyro.

"Huddah! Hudd! Mrrph!!" - Get out of here.

Using his flamethrower again, the man sent the three out of the hallway with a heated blast of air. It was now the Chemist and Pyro doubling it up again. How would you both fare this time? With a muffled growl, Pyro stood with his flamethrower ready while you regained composure and readied your pistol. The BLU Chemist finally stopped cackling before staring at the two of you with a blood thirsty glare,

"Let me see how you hold up against me. How you hold up against the BLU Plague."

\----..The Rest of Group A...----

Pyro's burst of heat push, forced the other half of Group A into another hallway. They could breathe now that they were out of range of the toxic cloud. Coughing, Scout cursed, immediately standing up and grabbing his scatter gun,

"Ack..! Damn it... Fuck this! Lemme at'er!-"

Engineer grabbed the boy's arm, stopping him from re-entering the hellish, plague covered zone. The Texan then shook his head, "No! You know we can barely last in there! We'd only be gettin' in the way." They had barely been in there for under three minutes, and they had just barely given in to the desperate itch for air. Spy cleared his throat and straightened his tie, 

"Z'ee cowboy is correct. We must regroup with z'ee others. If z'at BLU Chemist iz'ere, z'en z'ee Spy will be with z'ee other group. We must go. Now." 

Scout was about to protest, but couldn't help but agree with the French bastard. "Fine. But the second anythin' goes south, it's on you, yah French cock." The young man sprinted down the hall and towards the Intel Room while the Engineer and Spy followed - one muttering in Southern slang and the other in French while cloaking himself into thin air.

Things were already somewhat bad. They could only hope that Group B was faring better than they were... And that the BLU Spy wasn't posing as much of a threat. The news of the BLU Chemist in the area was startling and could easily turn the tables on RED if they weren't careful.

But it was in their Chemist's and Pyro's hands now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter was not as exciting as the others have been! I also apologize for the lack of our dear German.  
> As mentioned before, this is fic is intended to be a rather slow burn... So a lot of Chemist/Medic interactions will be sort of sprinkled here and there till they can be more focused on much later.
> 
> But here is your doppelganger: The crazed, sociopath BLU Chemist - or The BLU Plague.  
> How will you and Pyro hold up against her?  
> We'll find out next time in Chapter 9!


End file.
